


The Beast of Gallifrey

by authorwithoutaquill



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5632537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorwithoutaquill/pseuds/authorwithoutaquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor didn’t come unless there was no other choice. The Doctor was only called when there was no one else left. He evoked fear and disgust wherever he went. Cursed was his face, and tortured was his soul. Until he saw Her dancing in the glade. He watched Her for days on end, and when she spoke to him everything changed. For every Beast needs a Beauty and the Doctor had found his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beast of Gallifrey

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Timepetalsprompts weekly ficlet theme: Write something that's new to you. I've never written a trope before, so that's very new. I chose Beauty and the Beast because it is one of my favourite stories and I thought it would go exceptionally well with Nine and Rose.

She was fire and ice. Orange flame and steel grey skies, igniting his soul and soothing his senses. He could have watched her all day, dancing behind his eyelids, but it was time to get up. The sun has already begun its relentless journey through the skies, and so must he, too, rise and begin his day.

With a groan he rolled out of bed, not bothering to dress properly. It wouldn’t make much of a difference - his appearance was so foul no one dared to look at him twice, much less notice what he was wearing. And today he wasn’t called anyway.

Some tea and toast were waiting for him downstairs, but his stomach churned and his head ached at the sight of them. He told Donna countless times that he didn’t need the food; not in the mornings when his bare existence was painful. But the housekeeper pretended not to hear and made him breakfast every morning anyway. She laid it out neatly on the oak dining table, silver spoons and golden plates and crystal goblets… She only ever prepared a seat for one - the Doctor was notorious for not accepting any company for his meals. He made an exception once or twice for Jack, the rascal son of the neighbouring Count, but no one else. Jack was one of the few people who weren’t afraid of him and this fact alone endeared him to the Doctor (although he’d never admit to liking him out loud).

The Doctor dragged himself down the stairs and met Martha on his way to the gardens. She was a dark skinned girl in her early thirties and quite a useful addition to his household. However, her headstrong nature didn’t extend to pursuing fearlessness. The maid averted her eyes and scurried away with a quiet, “good morning, Your Lordship”. Despite her admiration of his skills as a healer, she was still a bit terrified of him, even after being in his employment for years. It was to be expected, the Doctor guessed - after all, he _was_ the Beast of Gallifrey.

He sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy mane, not daring to look into the mirror in the hallway. It had been years since he last looked at his reflection and the experience resulted in such a bout of self-loathing that he locked himself away from all human contact for two whole months. He paced up and down in his chamber for days on end, trying to quiet down his feverish thoughts, but had no luck. That’s when he saw Her first…

The Doctor knew he was terrifying - all black fur and white fangs and distorted face; towering a good 2 feet above ordinary humans. Oh, how he missed being one! Whenever he visited the village, or made a house call elsewhere he tried to cover himself as much as he could, to avoid being stared at. Always dressed in black: tailor-made jackets, leather gloves, leather boots, and a hood over his head. Sometimes he even wore a veil to cover his face, but it wasn’t enough. People still recoiled, and he left as soon as he was done with the day’s work, leaving in haste, not looking back.

Once or twice he was forced to leave before he was finished, and he carried the guilt of failure with him every day since. He had no patience for fools who made others suffer for their own idiocy. Most of the time his temper was a good enough tool to get his way and force some sense into those otherwise lacking. But he could hardly yell at the bedside of a patient, much less a man on his deathbed - and the two were usually the same when he was involved. The Doctor didn’t come unless there was no other choice. The Doctor was only called when there was no one else left.

He was accursed, for everyone hated his face, and his temper probably even more, but they required his help and he was damned if he didn’t give it. Even if the looks of disgust and horror had to accompany his goodwill every time.

His temper was the thing that had got him into trouble in the first place, all those years ago. He still had no mastery over it. A curse and a blessing - it was good enough to keep others away, to make himself believe it was better that way, that he didn’t need anyone. And it also prevented the gentle souls; the caring ones to approach him with their gentle hearts and soothing voices. He watched them, sometimes days on end, as they danced in their enchanted glades - all grace and forgiveness, laughter and sunshine, beauty and joy. And he watched Her most of all.

Her tongue poked out between her teeth every time she smiled, her whiskey coloured eyes dancing with a light so pure it was almost painful to look at them. Long arms and pale legs setting a rhythm for his heart to beat at. Flowing cloth weaving around her ankles and wrists in a flurry of pink and yellow. She had rose petals in her hair and sunshine in her eyes.

The Lady in the Water, she was called in myths and legends. The one who can forgive the deadliest sins and set free the loneliest prisoners.

The trouble was he didn’t want to be set free. That’s all he’d been wishing for during the past 20 years - ever since the Fairy Blue locked him in this ghastly prison of flesh and blood. But then he saw her dancing in the moonlight and he didn’t want to be set free anymore. Not if it meant he couldn’t watch her weaving stardust into wishes and soothing nightmares with the flick of her wrist. Not at that price; he didn’t want to go.

So he stole out to the forest every day when he didn’t have a patient to heal and sought her out. They never talked - the Doctor remained hidden as to not scare her away - but he took enormous pleasure in the sound of her light steps on the silver grass, and his soul lifted when she started to dance. She was Beauty and him the Beast, and they couldn’t ever mix, he couldn’t hope to receive a kind word that didn’t spring to her lips from pity - and yet, yet he hoped and he dreamed. And he went to the Glade of Gallifrey every week.

Only this bright morning when the sun shone with all its majesty it was different - the clearing was silent and seemed abandoned, except for a lone foal of a shimmering white horse. She was pawing the ground nervously, tossing her head here and there and whinnying softly. The Doctor thought he could see the faint beginnings of a horn starting to grow from its forehead. He sat down in the shadows and watched the animal, fascinated with its pale golden eyes and gentle voice, but didn’t dare to go closer. She would bolt and then he’d truly have no place in the Glade anymore - scaring away innocent animals and interrupting the rites.

The Doctor didn’t know how long he sat there. It could have been hours or days, or perhaps mere minutes. But eventually the one he sought the most appeared in the meadow and walked on quiet feet towards the unicorn. She kneeled down before the foal and stroked its mane gently, whispering foreign words in another tongue to which the unicorn seemed to reply silently. She stood up, turned around, and looked directly at him. Her voice was soothing balm to his scarred soul - one he knew he didn’t deserve.

“Step out into the light, please. There is no need to hide. I’m not afraid of you.”

“You would not say that if you knew who I was,” he rumbled back.

She entertained a smile before taking a few steps towards him.

“I know exactly who you are, Doctor. The Beast of Gallifrey. The Defender of the People. The Healer. The Accursed. The Silent One. The Feared.”

“Why do you wish to see me then? Surely you must know I don’t look fit for company.”

The Lady scowled a little and her honey-brown eyes seemed to be breaking softly.

“The Darkness has taken root in you, that is true. But it chose your body because it could not get a hold of your soul, Doctor. It is just flesh you are hiding and I see what’s underneath it.”

Now that truly scared the Doctor. He knew he was ghastly on the outside, but he was also aware of all his grave mistakes and inherent faults lying beneath the mask. Being terrified of a face he could take, but if his guardian angel could see through it, there was truly no hope left for him. He kneeled down at her feet and started to sob.

Warm hands caressed his shoulder while she tried to relieve him of his sins, “You are not all you can see, Doctor. You are much more, and yet much less. You angered the Fairy Blue and she decided to teach you a lesson, but that hardly makes any of us monsters. She is wise, the Fairy, but her teachings are not the easy kind and you can easily lose sight of what she’s trying to tell you. Now get up and let us walk. It is quite enough of those tears.”

He scrambled to his feet, letting his mane cover his face, not daring to look into his saviour’s eyes, barely even daring to move. She sighed, “You know, Doctor, you have been in that skin for far too long. You forgot why she put you in there in the first place.”

He lifted his head and looked puzzled for a moment, but then replied, “She cursed me shortly after my mother died. There was a plague in town and I refused to help. I said they can all perish, for She who was most important to me was already gone. I was very selfish and couldn’t get a hold of my temper.”

“That is true. However, that is not why the Fairy transformed you.”  
“Isn’t it?” His head whipped around, and for the first time since arriving into the clearing his eyes met hers. She gasped a little and the Doctor was about to apologize for turning towards her and letting her see him when she reached out and put a hand on either side of his face.

“Your eyes… They’re magical. The purest blue I’ve ever seen. They hold the oceans and the skies and the lakes and rivers and clouds…” She dropped her hands to her sides and looked away, drawing a few ragged breaths.

Clearing her throat, she carried on, “The reason the Fairy put her spell on you was because she wanted you to see your power. Your compassion. Your grace. She wanted you to save yourself.”

He snorted and the Lady shook her head, “No, but you don’t understand. If you couldn’t see it when you were human, when you had a family and lost them, when you had the life of any other ordinary person on Earth, then how could you see it after you’ve returned from war? She had to do something to make you see.”

“Funny way to make me at peace with myself.”

He closed his eyes briefly and tried to fight the feelings of truth arising in his chest, but he knew the Lady was right. He never saw his own value. Not since the day his father discovered his ability to heal and called it witchcraft, called his son a bastard, and told his wife they could clear out from his property. They moved to Gallifrey shortly after and his mother was very adamant in telling the Doctor it wasn’t his fault. He was just a boy then. But he never could forget what he’d done.

When the war came he thought it was finally his time to prove he was useful, that he wasn’t a disgrace. His mother begged him not to go, but the Doctor was always very stubborn, and his self-blame overpowered reason. He became a soldier, but never killed a man.

When he came back 3 years later, dirty and shattered, and shabby and broken, all he wanted to do was go home and tell his mother he was sorry, have a cup of tea and admit he was stupid. That she was right in not wanting him to go, and he’ll try to be of more use at home from now on, instead of wandering to foreign lands and laying down his life for other men to play war.

But he came back too late - his mother was on her deathbed, barely recognizing him and the word was she had fallen ill the day after he went off to fight. He tried to save her, to use his powers to heal her, but he couldn’t do anything. He eased the pain and let her go when it was time.

The Doctor he became in those short few month before her death, healing everyone he could, trying cure after cure, travelling to find a solution, but there wasn’t time. She passed away in February, when the last snow fell, twenty years before. He wasn’t himself ever since.

“Yes, but you see, it is not working. You are too hard-headed for your own good,” the Lady snapped him out of his musings.

“Hard-headed? Am I hard-headed? Why’s that then?” He sounded indignant and could feel his temper flaring up, but didn’t care. “Maybe because I can’t let go of the fact that my mother, my own mother, died because of me? Or that my father turned us away because I was… unnatural? Or maybe, just maybe, because I fought a stupid war and the nightmares still haunt me to this day?”

The Lady smiled sadly, “No, those things just prove you are broken. As all of us are - some a little more, and some a little less. You are hard-headed because you do not let others help you.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she raised an eyebrow and he just huffed.

They walked in silence for a while, circling back from the woods to the clearing. He knew it was time to go, the sun was already setting and the winter nights were very cold, but he couldn’t make himself care. The Lady, however, seemed to know his reluctance and wanted to reassure him.

“You can come back any time you want. Only, please come and talk, don’t just hide in the shadows. I don’t mind you watching me dance, but I get lonely too, you know. A little company would not come amiss for the Lady in the Water either.”

His surprise at her admission was overtaken by his doubt of her choice for the company.

“Even if it is the Beast of Gallifrey?”

Her lips curled into a tongue-touched smile and she nodded happily.

“Perhaps especially if it is the Beast of Gallifrey.”

She turned and left the Glade, her exit as silent as her arrival; but she left something in her wake the Doctor never felt before. It was like liquid gold crushing through his veins, scent of roses overwhelming his senses and a buzzing feeling somewhere in his stomach and chest. He sighed and shook his head. It was no time to dream, the sun was setting and Donna expected him to be home for dinner. Jack was coming over and he did not intend to be late in his own castle.

But for the first time in the past 20 years, he also had something else beside a warm dinner waiting for him at the table - a smile on his face and hope in his heart. Both stung a bit - the Doctor not being used to either - but he didn’t mind one bit. He was coming to see Rose the next day. He paused a bit and pondered his choice of name. He could hardly call her the Lady for all eternity, but it was perhaps more considerate to ask her name instead of just giving her one on his own whim. He shook his head and broke into a jog. He’d do that tomorrow. Maybe he could even tell her his own name. Wonder what she’d say. She probably already knew…

As the Doctor increased his pace and left the forest behind, he felt a certainty that things were going to be better from now on. He might even have breakfast tomorrow. Donna would have a heart attack. She’d never let him live it down. It would be the talk of the estate for years to come. The Doctor grinned. He was definitely going to have breakfast in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the story, please take a moment to comment/give a kudo. Thank you!


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